Wednesday, August 02, 2006

Banned From the End of Pepco'sTransformer

Hey, Sleater-Kinney fans. Burn, don't freeze, my ass. Last night at the 9:30 club was a fubarrific debacle of disappointment, as some sort of electrical fire ended up scotching what was to be SK's last show in Washington.

The evening started off nicely enough, with a gatheration of like minded folks over at DC9, fronted by Yglesias, the Best Editrix in the World, and Mr. Grammar Police, who was the generous, extra ticket-buying mofeaux who made it all possible. Drinks were drank, conversation was had, and I did my best imitation of Mike Dove in La Corbiere.

The first sign of trouble came when Spencer, of our little ad-hoc DC9ers, came back to the table after some brief reconnoitering over at the 930 club, where, according to him, the Black Stompy Smoke Monster from LOST was causing all sorts of stir. Fire trucks were witnessed, fumes characterized as "noxious"--even "Cherkisesque." But, people were still going in the club. I mean, better inside than outside with the Stompy, right? So a good sign, but somewhat ominous.

After a while, we headed over. Fire trucks remained over the front of the club, but there was no sign of any smoke. 930 wasn't taking any chances, though, asking everyone to go around the side, down the stairs, through the door and into the downstairs bar. It was a nice bit of improvising. We made our way upstairs where the Rogers Sisters were finishing their set, grabbed some decent real estate to watch the show and settled in for what was sure to be "teh awesome." The mood was light and cheery. We actually had this conversation:

Wife of DCeiver: I don't understand people. There are three girls in the restroom who are standing in front of the sinks primping themselves!

DCeiver: Seriously? Do they not know that this is a rock club? That it's hot and sweaty out here?

Wife of DCeiver: I'm like, "Honey, all that effort's gonna be wasted five minutes after you walk out the door."

Grammar Policeman: I don't know, I made sure to bring my bottle of L.A. Looks hair gel tonight.

DCeiver: Oh, that reminds me, Grammar, I made sure to wear my AXE Body Spray ankle holster tonight, so holler "Set me" if you need to get sniffed.

Grammar Policeman: Oh, dude. You gotta get down in front with that shit when the band comes out.

DCeiver: Right. Mmmmm. Call the DOCTOR!

Grammar Policeman: Show Sleater-Kinney what they've come here to see.

DCeiver: That's right. 'Sup, ladies. I have what you're looking for, so why don't you come put all hands on my bad one?

Of course, in reality, you don't say these things to Sleater-Kinney unless your doctor has prescribed you 100cc's of Janet Weiss cockpunch.

Well, a few minutes later and some guy comes out on stage and asked us all how we were doing tonight. Now, personally, I was experiencing several specific nuanced emotions, but the crowd very quickly hollered back that they were doing really effing awesome. Well, they really jumped the gun on their response, because the next words out of dude's mouth was that the fire marshall was laying down the kibosh on the evening's festivities, and we needed to all make our way out of the club.

People were, understandably, disappointed and most of the chatter was a mix of people wondering whether the show would be rescheduled or not, along with some who insisted that Al Gore predicted that this would happen in An Inconvenient Truth. People started heading for the exits, and we were a little surprised when the same guy got back on the mic to tell us that the police were getting pissed at our lollygagging and that they would come in and clear the club themselves if we didn't make with the egress, tout-suite.

I was, at first, willing to offer any member of the po-po a bright, shiny quarter if they could figure out a way to move us out faster than what we were already doing, but, after a minute, I thought better of it. After all, the last time we heard from the MPD, they were telling us to treat black Washingtonians like thrill-kill cultists waiting to get stabby. It was refreshing to hear them speak so forcefully to a room full of mostly white people, as if they remembered that we could kill some motherfuckers for no good reason as good as anyone else.

The unofficial news is good: Sleater-Kinney will apparently return to DC on Thursday after tomorrow's show at Webster Hall. If true, that's awfully nice of them--it means less time off between their NY gig and Lollapalooza. The 9:30 Club is vowing that they will not be reliant on Pepco for power that night, whatever that means.

A pity that it happened. Hopefully, SK will return Thursday, as opposed to the night of Randy's wedding or next Saturday or the opening weekend of Snakes On A Plane. Tonight was the DCeiver and Wife of DCeiver's eighth anniversary as well. But, we came home and made milkshakes, impromptu-stizz.

But, yeah. Tonight really sucked. But that's what you get, I guess, when you sexually harrass Sleater-Kinney with your imagination.

[Photo of Corin by A Nameless Yeast.]


Blogs t r e t c h said...

Happy Anniversary!!!! And thanks for the hot tip on the absence of cat sweat. Why Stinker... well, stank, is still a mystery.

Julie said...

wait, S-K's really coming back on Thursday? as in, tomorrow? freakin' sweet. I had literally just bought a beer when they made the announcement...and pounding ten ounces of Redhook is not so much fun.

The Deceiver said...

Ha! My wife had just done the same and had to quaff it with a quickness on the way out the door. Especially unfun considering that 9:30 charges $18 to just engage the bartender's attention and begin a transaction for one of their 90,000% marked up beers.

wharman said...

Happy Anniversary DCeiver and Wife of DCeiver! You have made me giggle.

L.A. Looks said...

The word from on high.

Duvall said...

But that's what you get, I guess, when you sexually harrass Sleater-Kinney with your imagination.

I dunno. I've been sexually harassing Janet in my imagination for years, but this is the first time the building has caught on fire.